5. Switch

5

SWITCH

I take a draw on my cigarette and feel like a thirteen-year-old sneaking smokes from the pack my dad always left by his keys. My first ever drag on one happened down the side of the clubhouse when my father's back was turned.

As I stand in the rain, hidden by the dumpster around the back of the rehabilitation unit, trying to smoke one of the cigarettes King left behind, I feel like I'm doing something illicit all over again.

I was a dick to Sophia.

Unintentionally, maybe.

But I heard that hurt in her voice again. The hurt other people keep missing.

I feel so shitty about it, I'm even contemplating going to the goddamn movie night to make up for it.

Didn't like the look of her brothers. Can't explain what it was beyond the fact they both looked like they had sticks up their asses. Fancy suits, fancier shoes. Not a fucking wrinkle on either of them.

Could see the way they looked me up and down before deciding I was a piece of shit. There are few moments I wish I had my cut on, but that was one of them. Fuckers wouldn't look twice at me if they knew who I really was.

But for Sophia's sake, I kept my reaction to myself and came out here for a cigarette instead.

My phone vibrates, and I take it out of my back pocket.

There's a picture.

Niro: Got some of the wedding photographs of me and Cat back.

I still can't get over how Niro looks now. How his scar has healed over time. But he's smiling. He's wearing his cut over a white shirt and dress denim. Catalina wears white trousers and vest. The woman's got muscle in those arms.

There's another photograph of Catalina in a white leather cut. It fits her like a glove. Even the patches are white with black writing. Not sure I've ever seen a white wedding cut before.

Clutch tried to explain to me how Cat kidnapped Niro and then saved him from himself and how the club created a special role for her. I still don't have an opinion on that, although I apparently voted in favor.

There's a third photograph of them, really fucking happy, standing in the sunshine in a town square. There's a little girl in a white dress with colorful flowers in her hair, and she's looking up at them, smiling.

Comments start to flood in beneath.

Vex. Clutch. King. Halo.

Saint, whom I don't remember, makes some comment about Bates having shaved. So, I guess the man stood next to Niro is Bates, which means the woman must be…shit…I was told her name.

A flower, maybe.

Now I'm confused. I sort of know who they are but don't. It's hard to explain what the void of a decade feels like.

But I feel it in this photograph.

I type some suitable message, then finish my cigarette.

As I'm stubbing it out, I notice my sneaker is undone, so I bend down to tie it.

"That was too easy," a man says with that New York Italian lilt.

"You think she bought it?" I can see their shoes beneath the car next to me.

I have no idea what makes me think of staying crouched, but there's a voice down inside me saying I should do just that.

It feels imperative.

Instinct, maybe.

"We can work on her over the next few days."

I'm being a fucking idiot. God knows why I'm crouched here. I hear car doors slam, and I stand. From my position by the dumpster, I see it was Sophia's brothers.

That was too easy.

You think she bought it?

"None of your business," I mutter to myself.

I try convincing myself of that as I walk all the way back into the center.

"Irv," I say, tipping my forehead at the security guard. He's eating some of the cookie surplus I dropped off earlier.

"Won't be the first to sneak out for a cigarette," he says. "But I suggest you change that hoodie so the bigwigs don't smell the smoke and know you broke the rules. You do that, and I won't tell anyone you went out the fire door."

I grin at him. "Thanks for the tip."

As I hit the stairs, my eye starts to twitch and go blurry. When this happened the other day, I passed out, and in self-preservation, I climb to the first flat surface and sit down.

My heart races, kinda like last time. The pulsing in my temple feels like blood is forcing its way through the eye of a needle.

What was it Sophia said earlier?

BAT.

Breathe. I do that. Slowly and deeply.

Adjust. I lean my head back against the glass panel.

Think.

It will pass if you calm. Let the panic go. You're already on the floor if you do.

Everything is still racing. Pulse, heart, thoughts.

Calm.

I slow my breathing, placing my hand on my chest and abdomen so I can feel my body move. Things are flickering behind my eyelids, and a metallic taste floods my mouth.

"Are you okay?"

I open one eye and see Sophia hurrying to me as best she can, her limp more pronounced as she does. Around her eye is red, as if she's been crying.

"Don't run," I warn. The last thing I need is for her to hurt herself as she tries to reach me. Shakily, I hold out my hand toward her. To catch her or to slow her down or because I need a fucking hand to hold right now, I'm not sure.

That was too easy.

You think she bought it?

Through the darkness, the words come back to my mind.

"Do you need me to get someone?" she asks. She places her hand on the chrome rail above the glass and slowly lowers herself to the floor. It's difficult for her, and I can't immediately think of how to help her.

Once she's down, she wiggles around until she is sitting with her back to the glass too. "What happened?"

"Dizzy. Sick. My eyesight blurred."

My body is shaking. Whether it's adrenaline or something more, I don't know. I feel like I'm gonna puke, and I swear sweat is collecting on my brow and above my lip.

"Here," she says, reaching for my arm. She tugs me until I'm resting my head on her denim-clad thigh, and I don't fight it.

"Just breathe through it." She runs her fingers through my hair, scooping it back off my forehead. I focus on the sensation of her nails against my scalp.

"Harder," I encourage, hoping the sharp bite of pain grounds me.

She does as I ask. Her nails pressing harder, but not as hard as I would like it.

It's enough.

Her thigh is soft and warm to my cheek.

"Can someone come to corridor two, quickly?" I hear her say. I don't know who she says it to. "It might not feel like it right now, Theo. But I promise you it gets better."

We sit in silence. One stroke of her nails, breath in. Another stroke of her nails, breath out. I feel her abdomen move at the same pace. We're breathing together, slowing everything down.

My head pounds less.

I place my arm over her thighs and hold on to her like she's an anchor that can stop me drifting away.

"Theo, it's Dr. Sharma. Can you sit up and open your eyes for me?"

When I open them, a doctor is crouched in front of me. With Sophia's help, I sit up and am rewarded with a light being shined into my eyes.

"It's exactly…same as." I wince.

"It's the same as what happened in the visitors' room?" Dr. Sharma asks.

I nod.

Fuck me.

This can't be the rest of my life.

"Just stay where you are, Theo. I'm going to take you for a scan. I'm sure it's just the normal pressure from the swelling you've had to the brain. But let's be certain. Don't move while I get you a wheelchair."

I try to push up. "No. I don't want… I can walk."

Both Sophia and Dr. Sharma try to stop me. "Don't risk it," Sophia says. "Trust me, you'll only do more damage if you fall."

I hate the feeling of weakness. I don't know exactly who I was before this happened, but I know I wasn't weak. My body, my cut, and my earlier memories tell me that.

But I can't explain all that to the two women looking at me.

Not when I feel so sick, like I'm gonna vomit if I so much as breathe.

Panic trickles through me. What if I'm not getting better? What if I'm actually getting worse?

"Fine," I say, placing my head back on Sophia's lap. It felt…safer…there. Like nothing could touch me and all dangers would pass.

Sophia leans forward and places her lips next to my ear. "I know right now you're having a mental battle with yourself. You want to believe Sharma's words, but you also think something is very wrong. Stop thinking about either, Theo. Find the happiest memory you still have left and cling to it for now."

I try to find a memory. My dad's face when I got my prospect cut. A road trip we took to Baja the summer Clutch turned eighteen. But the one I settle on is my mom hanging laundry outside on a sunny day. The sky is fucking blue. The sheets, white. I have a beer in my hand, and I'm sitting shirtless on a chair in the backyard. Mom laughs at the story I'm telling her.

And it's fucking peace.

The kind of youthful delusion that I'm invincible.

My heart rate slows.

"Better," Sophia says quietly.

Staying focused on the positive memories helps as I'm wheeled to the CT scan.

I hate it. Hate confined spaces. I hate being prodded. I hate all of this.

I don't want my head shoved in another machine.

"You need to let go of my hand," Sophia says. "I'm not allowed to stay with you."

I drop it like a hot potato. Hadn't even realized I was clinging to her like some kid who didn't want to go to class on his first day of school.

"I'm fine. Thanks."

But as I'm transferred onto the medical bed, I realize I'm not.

Sophia and Dr. Sharma leave the room while the radiographer sets up what he needs.

Closing my eyes, I try to relax, but it's impossible.

"Hey." Sophia's voice comes through the speakers. "I just looked up shocking facts about motorcycles, and it said the first Harley only went forty miles an hour. Is that true?"

I huff. "How am I supposed to know?"

"You're the biker, right?"

With my eyes closed, the blurriness goes away. "Just because I'm a biker doesn't mean…fuck…not everything bikes."

"Do you think you'll still ride after this?" she asks.

I think about the rides I can remember. "First thing I'll do when I get out of here."

"Why is it so important to you?"

I imagine I'm on my bike. "Sunshine. Wind in your…face. It's the…last…true freedom."

I hear Sophia sigh. "Sounds amazing."

"Clubhouse. Asbury Park. Find me. I'll…take you."

Bet she'd look fucking cute in leather.

She talks to me all the way through the scan until the radiographer takes over. And even then, it's not for long.

I let the sound of Sophia's voice override the fear I'm feeling.

That I'm never getting on my bike again.